


such an obvious secret

by pyrophane



Series: throw iron on the fire [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Breathplay, Choking, Consensual Violence (Kind Of), Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 10:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18776662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrophane/pseuds/pyrophane
Summary: It’s always easier to give himself away behind closed doors, in the unseen dark, but Renjun isn’t with Jaemin foreasy,after all.





	such an obvious secret

**Author's Note:**

> this is certainly not any of the long overdue wips i've been working on [pained chuckle] i don't know either but i was possessed for three days straight. also contains a significantly higher quantity of tender feelings than i anticipated, so hopefully that is a pro and not a con v__v
> 
> side note!! there is a lot of kink negotiation eg re: safewords that happens offscreen, please be responsible etc etc
> 
> title from moon - everglow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Renjun blinks. “What?” It’s wound a shade too tight, a coiled spring of an exclamation.

“I said,” Jaemin says, far too casual for the words coming out of his mouth, “I want you to choke me out.”

“ _What_ —that does not in any way—”

“Or would you rather the other way around?” Jaemin continues. “I think that’d be fun too.”

They’re in the kitchen of Jaemin’s apartment, where Renjun increasingly finds himself spending the night because of its convenient proximity to campus and also Jaemin. The glass of water Renjun came in to pour for himself sits on the formica counter, disregarded; he’d set it down in a hurry the first time Jaemin opened his mouth. Jaemin’s seated at the other end of the bench, hunched over his own mug, probably full of the toxic sludge he calls coffee. Looking at Renjun with a slow smile tugging the corners of his lips up. This, more than anything else, is what sets the back of his neck burning.

“Jaemin,” Renjun says. “I don’t know if you noticed, but it is _eight in the morning_ —”

Jaemin shrugs. “I was thinking about it.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Well, you’re the one with the choking thing,” Jaemin says, like this is a reasonable answer in any universe. He places his mug on the counter.

Renjun splutters, then takes a moment to regain his bearings. Move, countermove. “I do not have a _choking thing_. Friendly headlocks are completely—they’re completely different. And unrelated.”

“Mmm,” Jaemin says. Renjun elects to construe that as an agreement. “Do you have class?”

“Yeah,” Renjun sighs, grateful for the change in subject. “I have to leave in five or I’ll be late.”

“You should’ve told me, I would have made you something to take with you,” Jaemin says, frowning. “Don’t forget to eat!”

“I would never skip the most important meal of the day,” Renjun says dryly.

“Convincing,” Jaemin says. He stands up and crosses the tiled floor to crowd Renjun back against the counter, and automatically Renjun’s arms move up to sling over Jaemin’s shoulders, hooking behind Jaemin’s neck.

“Hi,” Renjun says, trying for disapproving but unable to stop the stupid smile that spreads across his face. “Can I help you?”

“Hi,” Jaemin says. He dusts off Renjun’s shoulders, the unnecessary but habitual gesture of caretaking something Renjun’s gotten used to over time. Kisses Renjun’s cheek, genteel, and brushes his fingers over Renjun’s collarbone hidden by the fabric of his shirt, the fresh marks he bit into Renjun last night blooming there. Renjun’s breath catches; unfortunately they’re standing close enough that Jaemin notices and grins widely, satisfied.

Jaemin likes to makes a point of trying to slip past his guard, provoke a response Renjun can’t or won’t stifle, like all he doesn’t need to do is just ask. It’s always easier to give himself away behind closed doors, in the unseen dark, but Renjun isn’t with Jaemin for _easy_ , after all. So he grabs Jaemin’s face and kisses him square on the mouth and sprints out of the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first time Renjun met Jaemin had culminated in bruised ribs and a blowjob, so he’s still not entirely sure whether to categorise that as a success. He hadn’t even planned on going to Ten’s party that night, only decided on it last minute because Jeno, by some miracle, came to the realisation that there was a world that existed beyond the threshold of the front door and floored them all by announcing his intent to actually leave the house and attend. No doubt the knowledge that Mark Lee was also attending, conveyed via Donghyuck, played some part in Jeno’s astonishing declaration.

Four or five drinks in and the rolling bass rumble through the floorboards was starting to get to him. A quick glance around the room—Jeno and Donghyuck were squashed onto a single armchair mid-deep and meaningful conversation, probably about Mark if Donghyuck’s obscene hand gestures were anything to go by, so that was that responsibility discharged. Renjun stepped outside to clear his head. There was a weird kaleidoscopic glitter to his vision he thought he might be hallucinating, before he stepped close enough to feel the thin film of water spray thrown by the fountain. On the other side of the basin stood a tight gaggle of people loudly cheering for something Renjun couldn’t see. It seemed like a good idea to push through the crowd for a clearer line of sight, so he did.

As it turned out there was some kind of impromptu fight club going on right there in Ten’s backyard, a girl and a boy in the middle of the circle trying to wrestle each other to the ground. The girl emerged victorious, twisting the boy’s arm behind his back; she looked up, sweaty, grinning, hair falling out of her bun, and recognition struck—Yiren Wang, from his media studies class.

Someone was calling for the next set of contestants. Restlessness set its teeth in. Suddenly Renjun wanted to move, all his limbs too loose, heat spreading out from a bright point in the centre of his ribs. He rolled his shoulders. Stepped forward, roaring chorus swelling up around him. From the other side of the circle another boy came forward too, tall, the lines of his body screaming confidence. In the dim light Renjun couldn’t make out much about his face other than the glint of teeth from a very wide smile, but he was pretty sure he didn’t know him.

A stream of rules, blows below the neck only, no kicking, five-second hold to win, Renjun wasn’t paying that much attention. He raised his guard. He’d done some martial arts as a kid, competitive level, though his reflexes were probably shot from disuse or alcohol or whatever. But this other guy looked like he thought he’d have an easy win and Renjun was hungry to prove him wrong.

His opponent had a decent straight punch but Renjun was quick, ducked and landed a blow to the kidneys. Okay, scratch that, not as quick as he thought. He wasn’t sober enough for balance. The other boy caught Renjun across the ribs, tried to keep the momentum going but Renjun wriggled out of his grasp. He was good at comeback victories. Dizzy with adrenaline. Elbow to the solar plexus, clumsy shift in weight and Renjun had him on the ground. A short tussle; the boy rolled them over, pinned him down for a moment before Renjun threw him off, flipped their positions again, knee digging into his lower back, weight bearing down. Palms to his shoulders. Renjun could feel the muscles seize up under his hands, then go suspiciously slack, which was a gambit if he’d ever seen one. So he pushed down harder as the crowd chanted the countdown from five, caught in that frieze of manic energy, and then he’d won.

Anyway. One moment he was sticking his hand out to help his opponent off the ground, _good game_ , Jaemin something, he hadn’t caught the rest of the name over the clamour of the crowd even though Jaemin had bent his head to speak right into Renjun’s ear and also hadn’t let go of his hand. The next Jaemin was pressing him up against the back of a bathroom door, mouthing at the junction between Renjun’s neck and shoulder, all the sweet warmth from the fight still scorching through him, burning through the dizziness, the iridescent tint to the air that this time couldn’t be attributed to light through water droplets.

Renjun swore when he jostled a tender spot near his ribs, probably the beginnings of a mean bruise, and dragged Jaemin’s head back up to kiss him again, bite at his bottom lip, Jaemin’s fingers spidering down from Renjun’s jaw to the heat welling up at his collarbone where Jaemin bit down earlier, ember of an ache. His mouth still tasted faintly of alcohol. Then Jaemin got on his knees, lobbed off something infuriatingly hot like _you can pull on my hair if you want_ and sucked him off with such expert technique Renjun nearly cried, fingers curling into the strands of Jaemin’s hair on instinct despite the fact that he’d been determined not to as soon as the words left Jaemin’s mouth.

The thing was, even when Jaemin lost it hadn’t seemed like it. Renjun hadn’t gotten it quite right when he first clocked him; it wasn’t confidence so much as _assurance,_ a total and unshakeable certainty in himself, just on the right side of arrogance. What could Renjun do? He wanted to see more. Know more. Try to run headfirst into it again, see if he could get it to crack. Hell of a first meeting. Unforgettable, if nothing else.

And now they’re at the stage where Jaemin has a row in his oversized wardrobe reserved for Renjun’s clothes and Jeno jokes about needing to find a new roommate and they have apparently redefined the boundaries of breakfast-table talk. He’s also not entirely sure what that makes them, caught between stages, no roadmap for where to go from here. The only other relationship he’s been in was with Donghyuck, and they grew up together, no definite start point to the overlap in their lives. So it scares him, not knowing. A thousand different paths the future could spiral down and no way to tell where this one is going. But no matter what happens he isn’t looking for exit strategies, doesn’t even want to, and maybe that’s the scariest part of all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Donghyuck hears the first meeting story he laughs for so long without stopping for breath that Renjun starts worrying about his lungs. “I can’t believe you met your boyfriend by beating him up,” he wheezes. “No, wait, actually I can. Of course you did.”

This is exactly why Renjun didn’t tell him for more than six months. Renjun narrows his eyes, setting his iced mocha back down on the cafe table. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know _exactly_ what I mean.”

“It was really a… mutual beating up,” Renjun says. “Like, there were blows exchanged, it was a reciprocal thing. I mean I won, but it was a fair fight.”

With the edge of his fork, Donghyuck slices off one of the ears on the Ryan the Kakao Friend-shaped cake they’re sharing, stabs it through and waves the prongs in the air judgmentally. “Oh yeah? And did you start fucking right there or did you at least get indoors before getting it on—”

“I’m not the exhibitionist, that’s _you_ you’re thinking about.”

Donghyuck sneers at Renjun. Renjun sneers right back at Donghyuck. By unspoken assent they swap drinks to try each other’s. “I always forget how much of a sweet tooth you are,” Donghyuck complains, grimacing as he sucks on the straw.

“Give it back, then?” Renjun takes a pointedly large gulp of Donghyuck’s tropical smoothie just on principle before they swap back.

“Anyway,” Donghyuck says, taking back possession of his half-empty drink and cradling it to his chest like a newborn. “What’s the problem? He offers to choke you out and you’re scared by how much you’re into the idea?”

“Literally where did I say that. Also I love how you’re just ignoring the reverse half of it.”

Donghyuck sighs theatrically. “You forget how well I know you,” he says. “And I must say this is a fun and fresh switcharound… usually it’s you lecturing me or Jeno or whoever on relationship woes… though I still don’t see the _woes_ part. Again: what’s the problem?”

Renjun swipes his fork through Ryan’s snout, breaking the chocolate nose in half. Ryan is Jaemin’s favourite Kakao Friend; he has a shelf full of Ryan plushies. Renjun feels vaguely apologetic. “It’s like,” Renjun says. “I don’t know… I feel like I should be embarrassed.”

“Are you?”

Renjun considers it. “No, not really. Or at least not about _that_ part.”

“Then, for the third time: what’s the problem?”

“I guess there is none,” Renjun says, scowling. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“Healthy kink exploration can be a wonderful way to—”

“I take it back, I will pay you to stop talking.”

Donghyuck flutters his eyelashes. “Like I said,” he says. “I know you too well. You can’t hide anything from me.”

“Honestly I think that’s the problem,” Renjun sighs. “I don’t think this many people should know so much about me.”

“Mortifying ordeals,” Donghyuck says sympathetically. “But what’s so bad about people knowing things about you, anyway?”

“You _like_ being looked at, it’s not the same,” Renjun says. Gloomily, he adds, “What if I die?”

Donghyuck raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What if you die… from being known? Or do you think your finance major boyfriend is literally going to murder you during sex? That’s actually a kind of valid concern, I’ve always gotten serial killer vibes from every Tommy Hilfiger-wearing business student I’ve ever—”

“Fuck you. I mean, like, it’s vulnerability, knowledge is power, it’s _humiliating_.”

“First of all, you’re into that. Second of all, you are basically like a window. Like once you get past the curtains you are about as mysterious and unknowable as clear glass. Third of all, why do you keep talking about it in the abstract? Do you not trust him?”

Renjun frowns. It feels a little like someone is digging a thumb into the soft unprotected underside of his heart. “I do, it’s just…”

Reaching over the table, Donghyuck curls his hand over Renjun’s. Smooths the fist out. “Renjun Huang,” Donghyuck says solemnly. “It’s okay to stop running. Believe me on this.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Halfway through his equitable estoppel readings for the week Renjun glances up and Jaemin, sitting on the edge of his bed, is smiling the kind of smile that practically demands Renjun clamber into his lap and kiss it off his face, so he does. Jaemin only smiles wider against his mouth, so that particular plan fell through, but at least he doesn’t have to see it. It drops off pretty quickly, though, the kiss growing deeper, messier, more demanding. Renjun loves the pinpoint moment when Jaemin’s focus becomes palpable, that slow escalation of intensity finally crossing into something he has to work for to maintain.

When he and Donghyuck were still dating Donghyuck used to say Renjun kissed like it was a competition he was trying to win, which made them two unstoppable forces crashing into each other headfirst. With Jaemin it’s less about one-upping and more about precisely matching, something almost soothing about throwing himself against a barrier that never yields, because the fight is pretty much a nominal thing by now, no real bite behind it. Still teeth, though. Jaemin allows himself to be pushed backwards onto the bed, Renjun’s knees bracketing his ribs. Giddiness rises up, a sweeter shade of vertigo. For a moment they’re just looking at each other, breathing hard, a dark shine to Jaemin’s eyes, before Jaemin curves a hand around the nape of Renjun’s neck and tugs him down again.

The kiss opens up again, slower, less performance. It’s a wonder that they work at all considering how much pride they both carry around, but they make do. Jaemin slides a hand over Renjun’s shoulder, pulls his shirt collar down to reveal the constellation of last night’s marks. He has this proprietary fascination with the bites he leaves on Renjun, compounded by the fact that Renjun’s skin bruises so easily. Renjun rolls his eyes but holds still obligingly while Jaemin runs his fingers over them, vestiges of a simmering, unsteady ache.

“I wasn’t kidding before, you know,” Jaemin says, voice rough. His eyes dart to Renjun’s hands, an unmistakeable response.

“Are you…”

Jaemin takes one of his hands and places it on the front of his throat. “Like this,” he says, and Renjun can feel the movement of the words beneath his palm.

The unspoken rest of it unravels out before him, Jaemin willing to give him anything he wants, so he’ll be pliant and vulnerable under Renjun, let Renjun ride him with his hands circling Jaemin’s neck, thumbs pressing in cautiously. It’s a heady thought, knowing Jaemin would let him.

“Or…” Jaemin continues, lifting his other hand and drawing his index finger down the line of Renjun’s throat and Renjun’s mouth goes wet with want. He swallows compulsively, the tip of Jaemin’s finger resting in the hollow at the base of his throat. Under Renjun’s own fingers Jaemin’s pulse is steady. Waiting, careful, for Renjun to make up his mind.

Jaemin isn’t pushing down at all, barely a ghost of contact, but if he mirrored Renjun properly he could probably fit the entire column of Renjun’s throat in his grasp. The pressure of his fingers on the sides of his neck, the warm curve of his palm covering the front. The way he’d look at him, lit up like the first time Renjun landed a hit on him, when they met. How he hadn’t missed a beat then, wouldn’t falter now.

“Okay,” Renjun says. He slides his hand up to cup Jaemin’s jaw, clears his throat and mumbles, “I trust you.”

Jaemin hums and turns his head to press a kiss to the base of Renjun’s palm, and, startled, Renjun yanks his hands back, face burning. “Don’t get all embarrassed on me now,” Jaemin teases. “I’ll make it really good, I know what I’m doing.”

Renjun makes a face, sitting up and settling onto his knees. He pulls his shirt over his head and turns to discard it, along with his sweatpants. “Reassuring,” he replies. His heartbeat kicks up several notches, the anticipatory buzz of it resonating in his ears.

Jaemin sits up too, shifts around and presses himself against the question-mark curl of Renjun’s back. Kisses the topmost knob of his spine, bites down at the tender spot right behind Renjun’s ear and Renjun hisses, a fresh pulse of heat shaking out from the point. “Oh?” Jaemin murmurs, rubbing over the bite with a thumb, hard, and the firework of sensation shoots straight to Renjun’s cock. He kisses Renjun’s shoulder, placatory. “What do you want, baby?”

“You _know_ what I want.”

“I do,” Jaemin says sunnily, the bastard smile in his voice audible. “But I want to hear it from you.”

“I hate you,” Renjun seethes. He twists around to face Jaemin and Jaemin catches hold of his wrists, fingers wrapping entirely around them, grip secure enough it’d take Renjun some effort to break it. If he wanted to. “Kiss me again.”

“Of course,” Jaemin says, and does just that. He keeps his grasp on Renjun’s wrists, doesn’t let him touch or take back the reins because they both know Renjun needs to put up at least a token resistance so he can convince himself relinquishing control isn’t the same as giving in, needs Jaemin to leverage everything he has over Renjun physically in order to _make_ him.

When the kiss breaks Renjun can’t help but lean forward, chasing the warmth, mouth smarting like a bruise. Jaemin taps the inside of his wrist in warning, _don’t touch,_ and then lets go to push Renjun back against the mattress and take off his own shirt. Of course Renjun could anyway, but he doesn’t.  

Now that he’s gotten his way Jaemin seems to be in no hurry whatsoever. “So pretty,” Jaemin murmurs, turning back to Renjun and taking his face in his hands. Renjun flushes so violently he’s almost surprised Jaemin’s palms don’t singe.

“If you don’t start getting on with it I will kill you,” Renjun warns, the deflection weak, breathless. He’s more than half-hard but not yet willing to ask, pride keeping the words dammed up at the base of his throat.

Instead of answering Jaemin presses an openmouthed kiss to the corner of Renjun’s mouth, then the underside of Renjun’s jaw, then the top of Renjun’s sternum. His hands skim down Renjun’s sides, settling on his waist, so infuriatingly light Renjun’s dizzy from the hyperawareness of contact. It’s just like Jaemin to be gentle right after promising violence, and Renjun will die if he doesn’t touch him soon.

“So tell me,” Jaemin says. “All you have to do is say it out loud.”

Renjun grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut. Desire wars with the mortification of having to verbalise, which is really just another model of the same thing, Jaemin dragging the want out of him in every capacity. Jaemin’s hands move lower, fingers fitting themselves to old bruises on the insides of his thighs with little acidic bursts of pain so sharp they only take milliseconds to go sweet and hazy and hot around the edges. So close to where Renjun wants them.

A firm hand grips his chin. “Eyes on me, love,” Jaemin says.

Renjun opens his eyes and glares directly up at Jaemin. “Will you,” he says, enunciating each word as clearly as he can, the humiliation burning clean through him and flushing him harder, “ _please_ get your hands on my fucking dick.”

“There,” Jaemin says, beaming, “that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” and finally, _finally_ cups a hand around Renjun’s cock over his underwear.

“Why do you always make me do this,” Renjun gasps, arching forward into the relief of pressure, muted as it is by the layer of fabric.

“Because you want me to,” Jaemin answers, keeping his touch loose and light, and however Renjun answers that is going to be more of an admission than he can bear. Then Jaemin pushes down hard with the heel of his palm and Renjun cries out, sight going incoherent, before Jaemin lifts his hand off entirely, pressing his palm flat against the plane of Renjun’s stomach to keep him from jerking upwards.

In a display of coordination completely beyond Renjun right now Jaemin gets Renjun’s underwear off and closes a fist around his cock, the hot, spit-slick drag of skin on skin just rough enough for fever to set in electric, the familiar buildup of tension in his lower belly. Twist of the wrist. Renjun’s lips part and Jaemin ducks in to steal the sounds from his mouth.  

Jaemin kisses the volatile thunder of Renjun’s pulse and settles his other hand on the front of Renjun’s neck, resisting the pressure of gravity. Immediately Renjun tenses, cock jumping in Jaemin’s grip, and Jaemin grins, all teeth.

“If you want me to stop,” Jaemin starts, and Renjun nearly snarls.

“I want you to _hurry up_ ,” Renjun bites out. Jaemin laughs, leans down briefly to kiss him and cinches his fingers and Renjun’s vision shorts out. He reaches up, tries to draw Jaemin closer, the heat of his mouth, his hands. Tilts his head back, anything to give Jaemin a better angle, the flick of Jaemin’s thumb over the head of his cock sending static shocks up the base of his spine. He’s dragging in shallow breaths, throat sealed shut by his rocketing heart, all of him trembling from the effort of focusing on Jaemin.

“You’re so pretty,” Jaemin says again, halfway to reverence. His hair’s in disarray, eyes wide with awe. “I wish you could see yourself like this, Injunnie, you have no idea how much—”

Lightheaded, Renjun tries to say something, Jaemin’s name, he doesn’t even know himself,  but all that comes out is wordless wrecked noises. His awareness telescopes down in zoom lens bursts, the cage of Jaemin’s hand around his neck and everything in screaming glittering clarity. Jaemin tightens his fingers around his throat and just like that he’s coming apart, shaking with the force of orgasm and Jaemin strokes him through the sweeping aftershocks, murmuring endearments Renjun can barely hear as he comes back down into his body, stunned and boneless. Waiting for his heartbeat to subside.

He hadn’t even noticed when Jaemin let go of his throat but the moment the loss of pressure registers, it surprises him into coughing. Jaemin smooths the back of his hand down Renjun’s cheek. “How are you feeling?” Jaemin asks, the beginnings of a frown drawing his eyebrows together.

“Good,” Renjun says experimentally, the sound hoarse but not as bad as he’d expected. “My turn.” He sits up. Shoves a hand down Jaemin’s pants and wraps his fingers around Jaemin’s neglected cock and kisses him before he says something stupid like _you don’t have to,_ because it’s never been about obligation, only ever about choice.

It doesn’t take long before Jaemin tips his head forward onto Renjun’s shoulder and comes all over his hand. He waits for Jaemin to catch his breath, pull back, and then, holding Jaemin’s gaze, he sucks his fingers into his mouth, licking the come off, watching Jaemin’s eyes go half-lidded. Jaemin catches his hand, kisses him uncaring of his own taste, and they fall back onto the pillows.

For a while they lie there, exhausted, tangled up in each other. Eventually Jaemin extricates himself with a kiss to Renjun’s forehead, reemerging minutes later with damp towels to clean both of them off and a glass of water for Renjun, which he accepts gratefully and balances on the bedside table after draining.

When Renjun rolls over to face Jaemin again, he’s already watching him, a softer iteration of his usual stare, intensity terraformed into fondness.

“Why are you always looking at me,” Renjun huffs, most of the heat dissipated over time and repetition.

“I like looking at you,” Jaemin says, just as easily as he did the first time Renjun asked, familiar call and response. He opens his arms and Renjun not-so-accidentally knees him in the ribs as he shoves his foot between Jaemin’s calves and tucks his face into Jaemin’s neck.

“You’re nice to look at too,” Renjun concedes. They lapse into a lull of drowsy silence.

Then Jaemin speaks. “Move in with me,” he suggests. “You already stay over half the time, why not make it all the time?”

Renjun freezes and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, which ends up being, “I never finished my readings.”

Jaemin’s hand is a warm anchor on the bare skin of his hip. “Are you running?”

Renjun is the running type; it’s just what he does. Towards or away. He gets out of things while he still can, because he knows just how easily he can break. But there are things worth risking it for. Worth working for. Really he gave up running the moment he stepped into the ring and Jaemin was waiting for him on the other side. The rest of the future, unknown and lovely, turning on a point. When he plays, he plays for keeps.

“No,” Renjun says slowly. “I’m not.”

“Then what can I do to make you stay?”

Renjun draws back. Meets Jaemin’s serious gaze. Touches the corner of his jaw with all the tenderness he knows. “You don’t have to do anything,” Renjun says. “You already have me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> originally renjun was the one doing the choking but then i saw [this](https://twitter.com/guma389/status/1125361775761711109) and switched plans... i'm sure it still happens later tho. for equality
> 
> come find me on twitter [@juncheolsoo](https://twitter.com/juncheolsoo) / cc [@inheritance](https://curiouscat.me/inheritance) ♡


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